The Day the World Ended
by mylittlehazmat
Summary: As obvious as it might seem in hindsight, this was the single most painful thing he had ever endured. AU. Harsh criticism appreciated. Oneshot.


The Day the World Ended

"I'm tired, Nikola."

She sat next to him, admiring the blaze currently engulfing most of Vancouver. The city skyline she loved so dearly was blurred and hazy from the dancing, flickering destruction. It was on fire.

"I know."

They were both on a grassy hill, the soil still damp and cool, so ignorant of what it would become. A tequila bottle sat between them. Helen had briefly wrinkled her nose at the brand, Nikola used to have such good taste in alcohol. She had suffered down a gulp full all the same. It would make no difference on tomorrow's dawn whether or not she drank from the cup of Jesus Christ himself.

"There's nothing I can do."

The world was on fire. A giant pyre, built to the sky gods, asking for just a second more of life, a fruitless and futile existence that would come asunder no matter the blood that was shed.

"I know."

A ghost of a smile flickered on Helen's lips, a flash of life snapping through her blue, muddied eyes.

"I never did have much patience for such melancholy, Nikola," she chuckled roughly.

He smirked, a single, feral canine glinting through. "I know, Helen."

She wilted, "But now I don't seem to have the patience for anything."

"What happened?"

"A fire." She didn't want to answer that question, not even to herself. She shut down the flood of memories, staring listlessly at the orange bonfire before her. She didn't say anything, then, and neither did he. Their proper English education hadn't prepared them with the words to satisfy today's events. Nobody should have the words for this.

"Nikola," she blurted, frustrated, "I can't stand being so helpless."

He eyed her dolefully. He didn't bother to say, "I know," or "I understand," or even the smart aleck remark of, "well, obviously you can stand it, since you aren't _doing_ anything!" That last one just sounded petulant. Him, the small child, expecting Mother Helen to come to the rescue. As she always did. Not this time.

And he did understand. However much he might posture his relation to the ancient vampires, he was born human. And he was now watching the very last dregs of humanity evaporating from the Earth, from existence. It _hurt_. Every fiber of his being, and, indeed, hers, was geared towards fighting, winning, _surviving_. Faced with imminent defeat and destruction was … painful. As obvious as it might seem in hindsight, this was the single most painful thing he had ever endured, so all-consuming he couldn't even cry out and weep. There was no salvation.

He returned from his thoughts to see Helen performing the sign of the cross, whispering to herself the Trinity they, the Five, had long since discarded.

The Five had been a powerhouse in their time, dominating the science community in England with the equally complete and absolute grasp they had of their different subjects. Their superiority among other scientists had led to an ego none of them could suppress (not that they had been altogether willing to eliminate the God-like aura). Helen may have the decency to cringe now, but they had been young and drunk on their own success. Their triumph in using the vampiric blood didn't help, really.

God had had no place in this world they, themselves, controlled so deftly.

The greatest irony, and the greatest sting, was how they came crawling back to their creator when faced with the horror of their own destruction.

And as she lay herself before her creator, prostrated fully in her own weakness, she heard a baby cry. It seemed to come from the depth of her soul, as if she herself were crying out for the Mother, the comfort of a warm bosom and kind words.

_It will be alright …_

The cry got louder, and the strange sensation of ascending out of deep water surrounded her. The fire left her, a heavy sleepiness surrounding her as she lifted out of her dream, her nightmare, her Hell and she stirred in her bed, surrounded by the four poster and blue curtains she was so familiar with, and she could only remain stupefied as she realised the true reality.

The cry, she now dimly recognized as coming from her daughter, couldn't even break through her stupefaction. The baby continued to lament as she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. Such utter …

She dozed for a few minutes, Ashley wailing for her incapacitated mother all the while. The crib Helen had pushed so lovingly close to the bed so that her daughter would be near in cases such as this.

Ashley screamed. Helen snapped out of her daze, moving so fast she hit her knuckles on the side of the crib as she flipped over to nuzzle the red, blotchy face of her blonde daughter.

"A-Ashley," she hiccoughed into the pale pink nightie she'd dressed the baby in that evening, "Oh, Ashley."

It was at this point that Helen cried. She wept and bawled soundlessly into the lace neck of the sleeper, hands grasping gently at the bundle of human life she herself had borne … and she was relieved.

"It will-" she sobbed, "It will be a-alright," and she really … hoped it would be. Please, God, for her daughter.


End file.
